


End of the Day

by HighKingMargo



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 17:20:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13462911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighKingMargo/pseuds/HighKingMargo
Summary: One of Jake’s undercover missions goes seriously awry, and he and his friends have to deal with the aftermath.





	End of the Day

The first and only thing Jake Peralta thought in the moment the gunshot rang out was  _I’ll never get to see Amy again._

And then he was down. There wasn’t any pain, unlike when he was shot in the foot, but there was some feeling of simultaneous numbness and heat blooming through him like ink in water. It felt like he could get back up, like he could push through it and defend himself the way he was trained, but he couldn’t muster the strength to stand.

 A finishing shot should come soon, he thought, now that he couldn’t fight back. He shuddered to think about what an easy target he was in that moment.

But the shot never came, at least not that he could tell. He could have sworn he heard one, or even two, but it was all background noise to the uncomfortable sound of his pulse in his ears and the swaths of black clouding his vision.

It didn’t matter. One bullet or three didn’t make a difference; all Jake knew was that it was getting harder to breathe, and his heart was skipping, and he wished Amy could have been there to hold him one last time.

***

 “Briefing room. Now.”

Amy immediately stood from her desk at Captain Holt’s words and rolled her shoulders and neck to relieve the tension that had been building there all morning. It was harder doing deskwork without Jake around to liven it up, and she often found herself stuck tight in one position for hours on end. She was grateful for any real opportunity to get out of her chair and stretch.

Of course, it was only to settle down at one of the briefing room desks, but motion was motion. She let her mind wander as the rest of the squad filed into the room, wondering whether someone was in trouble for doing something stupid, which seemed to be half the reason meetings were ever called, or whether there was an interesting new case to solve.

Holt closed the door and made his way to the front of the room. He cradled a leaf of letterhead paper on a manila envelope in his hands, and Amy hoped it actually was the beginning of a new case file.

“I have word from Marshal Johnson,” Holt began, and the room erupted with sound.

“Jake’s captured O’Bannon, hasn’t he!” Charles said, his face alight with joy. “I knew our boy could do it,” he added to Amy. “In and out, just like that. Nobody in the 99 has ever caught such a fugitive in less than a month before!”

Amy felt her insides constrict with nerves, just like they always do when there’s news from an undercover investigation. Jake had been on so many she felt she should be used to it by now—he’s a perfectly capable detective and he’s always been fine before—but her gut didn’t agree.

This particular case he was working alone. Michael O’Bannon was wanted for just about every crime under the sun, from drug dealing to murder. Jake was chosen for the job for reasons that couldn’t be disclosed no matter how much Charles had begged and pleaded, and while Amy hadn’t voiced her desire to know more about the case her fiancé would be working, the thought of him being undercover for so long without anyone else on the squad terrified her.

But here, through all the chatter, was news. Holt had actually tolerated the noise longer than Amy expected, but it didn’t take long for him to quiet them down. He cleared his throat and looked down to skim the paper in front of him before laying it down on the lectern.

“I have been searching for the words to tell you all about this since the letter arrived this morning,” Holt said, and Amy’s heart all but fell through the bottom of the floor. The briefing room was quieter than she had ever heard it. There was a long pause, as if Holt were still searching for those words, and it was suddenly glaringly obvious that something was terribly wrong.

“Detective Peralta was compromised in his mission,” he said eventually, his eyes trained on a back corner of the room to avoid eye contact. “He was killed three days ago in the line of duty.”

The room burst to life again, this time filled with pain and rage and indignation and denial. Amy could only sit still as her world shattered around her and Holt brought the clamoring back down.

“Jake was a fine detective, and a fine man,” Holt said, his voice wavering. “He will be sorely missed. I will let you all know when the service will be as soon as possible, and I urge you to support each other in this tragedy.”

Holt left the room before anyone could ask any questions, and the silence and stillness persisted long after the door swung shut. Amy’s face was wet with tears, and she could hear Charles sniffling beside her. She couldn’t tear herself away from the shock until Rosa appeared on her other side and pulled her into a hug. Her crying finally became audible as she sobbed into Rosa’s shoulder, gripping the back of her jacket like her life depended on it.

***

 When Jake came to in his hospital bed, he could barely see through the pain enough to know he was even in a hospital bed. His whole torso was on fire and he had a splitting headache the likes of which he’d only experienced before in terrible hangovers.

It took another few minutes before he realized he wasn’t in an actual hospital. The floral wallpaper was old and cracked, and a pile of dusty toys and a plush chair sat in the opposite corner. The blinds were drawn tight in the window and there were two doors, one that must lead out of the room and another that could be a bathroom or closet door. It looked like a regular old bedroom.

Jake wasn’t sure whether he should call for somebody. He was hooked up to an IV and an ECG machine, and he was alive, so odds were good that whoever had done this was on his side. He couldn’t be sure, though, and while he didn’t have any means of defense in such a state, he didn’t want to plunge into deeper shit than he was already in.

Before he could fight through his pain- and probably drug-induced haze, the door opened and an older woman walked in. Jake had never seen her before, and she started when she saw Jake awake.

“Oh! Detective Peralta,” the woman said, “I’m glad you’re awake.”

“Where am I?” Jake asked. He wished he could think well enough to ask more specific questions.

“This is my house,” the woman said. “I’m Doctor Acosta. Marshal Johnson sent you into hiding with me as soon as I was able to get you out of the operating room. You’re not allowed to leave here no matter what,” she said. “Marshal’s orders.”

Jake groaned. “Can I speak to him?” he said. “I need to be briefed on…” he gestured vaguely around the room, “all of this.”

“Of course,” Acosta said. “I was instructed to call him as soon you were lucid.” She took a phone and a slip of paper from her pocket and dialed the number on the paper before handing the phone to Jake.

“US Marshal Johnson,” the marshal said when he picked up the phone.

“Sir,” Jake said, “It’s Peralta. What happened? How am I alive?”

“Slow down,” Johnson said. “I’ll explain everything. We found out at the last minute that your cover had been blown. I led a team to your location and we didn’t make it before you were shot, but we managed to chase O’Bannon and his men off before they finished the job.” He paused. “Most of them escaped, including O’Bannon. Doctor Acosta is keeping you hidden until you’re well enough to be on duty.”

Jake sighed. Normally he’d argue, and he probably will once he feels well enough to at least stand and walk, but for now it hurt just to breathe and he couldn’t imagine facing off against a genius criminal again anytime soon.

“Fine,” he said. “Can I at least have contact with my precinct if I’m not working the case anymore?”

There was a silence at the other end of the line, which Jake hoped meant Johnson was considering it. Superiors never seem to sway in his favor, though, and he could tell the answer wouldn’t be a positive one when Johnson finally heaved a sigh and replied.

“Unfortunately, you cannot,” Johnson said. “Even this phone call is the only one we’ll have between each other. This is a unique case, Detective, and certain measures need to be taken for your safety.”

“Okay, well…how long before I can go back on duty?” Jake asked. Johnson’s voice had betrayed some emotion Jake couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it wasn’t good. Something was off, but he hoped if he ignored it he wouldn’t have to deal with it.

“Doctor Acosta will tell you everything you need to know medically,” Johnson said. “There’s just one other thing you should be aware of.”

Jake frowned. “What is it?”

“Those measures for your safety go beyond contact,” Johnson said. “O’Bannon has eyes everywhere, and he needed to think you were dead or he would find a way to kill you. You understand why that poses a concern.”

“Okay…” Of course he understood; it was common sense. Not only did he not want to be killed, but being laid up in a hospital bed, even in a place less full of civilians than a hospital, put innocent lives in danger.

“I had to notify your captain of your death,” Johnson said. “He will inform your precinct and organize a funeral so as not to rouse suspicion. News of your death will be broadcast publicly.”

Jake paused. “You mean you notified him of my  _fake_  death,” he said.

“I notified him that you fell at the hands of O’Bannon,” Johnson said. “You are officially dead until further notice. You will not show your face, you will not use social media, and you will have no contact with anyone outside Acosta’s apartment.”

“What?” Jake cried. “No, no, no, you can’t do that,” he said. “My squad knows how to fake mourning; they’ve done it before for former Detective Pimento. You can’t tell them I’m actually dead.”

“I can do whatever I deem necessary,” Johnson said, “and I have. I understand your misgivings, Peralta, but as soon as you’re well, or as soon as O’Bannon is captured, you can go home. This situation isn’t indefinite.”

“But sir—”

“But nothing,” Johnson said. “You will be informed when you can reemerge. Until then, Doctor Acosta will take care of you.”

The phone hung up before he could protest and he reluctantly handed it back to Acosta. There was nothing he could do; his friends, his  _family_ , will think he’s dead for who knows how long. Months, maybe. As much as he’d always thought faking his death would be the coolest thing he could accomplish as a cop, imagining the rest of the squad mourning him and thinking he would never come back broke his heart.

It seemed cruel. What about Amy? She was so uncertain for so long about dating another cop, and this could solidify those uncertainties into regrets. He wanted more than anything in the world to tell her he was okay, that he loved her, and that he would be back as soon as he could. He briefly wondered if he could bribe the doctor into letting him write a letter, but tried to push the temptation out of his mind. As much as he hated to admit it, O’Bannon was too dangerous for him to try anything, and if something happened to Amy or anyone else at the Nine-Nine because of him he’d never be able to forgive himself.

So the waiting game began.

***

Captain Holt tried to insist Amy take time off of work, but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t sit at home and cry despite feeling like she had enough tears to last months. Being at work was the best distraction she had, and if she gave that up, she would totally break. It seemed the same was true of most of the squad, save Charles, who hadn’t shown his face in the week since they were notified of Jake’s death.

The funeral was tonight, and Amy wasn’t prepared. She’d been grappling with her eulogy for days, knowing words didn’t exist to describe how she felt about Jake and his passing. In the end, she’d crumbled up the sixth paper she’d attempted and curled into a ball herself, wishing she could disappear.

So, instead of doing work, she only sat at her desk and stared at her computer, her mind running through how the service might go. She wasn’t sure she’d even be able to make it into the room with the coffin on stage and Jake’s portrait standing next to it. She almost considered staying home, but she couldn’t just not show up no matter how sick she felt at the prospect.

“Amy.”

Amy snapped out of her daze; she hadn’t noticed Gina walking up to her. She sighed and rubbed her temples to try to ease her headache as Gina slid her papers away to sit on the desk.

“Hey, Gina,” she said. “What is it?”

“You’re stressing about tonight, aren’t you?” Gina said, and continued before Amy had a chance to reply. “Of course you are. What say you and me ditch this depression rodeo and go pregame?”

Amy scowled. “Pregame  _what_?” she said. “Jake’s funeral?”

“It’s what he would have wanted and you know it,” Gina said. She sighed, then added, “I’m stressing too, okay? I just think the night will be a little easier if, you know, I had some tequila and five-drink-Amy made an appearance.”

“I suppose a little confidence wouldn’t hurt…”

“That’s the spirit!” Gina slapped Amy’s back hard enough that she nearly face planted into the desk. “Oops,” she said with a chuckle. “I may have already had a drink or two.”

“Okay,” Amy said, standing up. “All right. I just need to tell Captain Holt we’re clocking out.”

And two hours later, Amy was sobbing face-first into the bar. It was the first time the number of drinks she’d had didn’t correspond to any of her drunken quirks. The crying had started after drink number two, and she couldn’t stop herself from letting out intermittent bursts of tears.

“I miss him,” she cried. “I miss him so much and I loved him so much and…and what if he didn’t know that?” She lifted her head and looked wide-eyed at Gina. “What if I didn’t say it enough?”

Gina groaned. “Your relationship was so pure it made me want to vomit,” she said. “He knew you loved him. Trust me. You were all he ever talked about.”

Amy nodded and wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without him,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” Gina said. “You only get one best friend. Of course, I am many people’s best friend, but I only have enough room in my life for one…and…”

Amy tilted her head. “Gina?”

“And he’s gone,” Gina said flatly. She slid out of the bar stool and pasted a smile onto her face before holding her hand out to Amy. “We should get ready for the service. Contrary to popular belief, I can’t just flip my hair and become a perfect twelve.”

Amy took Gina’s hand and slipped off the stool, stumbling into her. “I think I had too many drinks,” she said. “Oh, God, I’m going to ruin the funeral.”

“Don’t think about it and it’ll be over before you know it,” Gina drawled as she practically pushed Amy out of the bar.

When they got to the church, Amy took a seat on one of the front pews while Gina went to the bathroom, and it wasn’t long before she was flanked by Rosa and Terry.

“How you holding up, Santiago?” Terry said. “I know today must be hard for you, but I’m here if you need anything.”

Amy sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Terry.” She paused, then admitted, “I don’t have a speech.”

“You don’t?” Terry frowned. “That’s so unlike you.”

Amy nodded. “If I go up there and say anything you’re gonna have to escort me out because I won’t be able to make it off the stage myself because I couldn’t even do  _this_  for him; I couldn’t write him a nice eulogy, and I couldn’t hold myself together at his funeral, and he’d be teasing me for being a mess right now, and…”

“Are you drunk?”

Amy nodded again. “Gina’s idea.” She sighed. “It didn’t work.”

“Look,” Rosa said, “if you can’t make it up there to give a dumb speech, it’s okay. Nobody is going to force you and everyone already knows how much you loved him.”

“I’m sorry,” Amy said. “Jake was your friend, too. I don’t want you to have to take care of me. This is hard on all of us.”

“Yeah,” Terry said, “it is. We all just have to be there for each other and we’ll be okay.”

Amy nodded and straightened up as much as she could as the service began. It felt longer than it actually was, and her eyes never dried through the entire evening, but she made it to the end without vomiting so she deemed it a success. That is, until it was time for eulogies.

She stiffly made her way to the microphone and stood staring blankly at the mourners, wringing one hand with the other as she tried to figure out what to say. Giving up on writing it in advance was a mistake, she thought.

“Jake…” Amy took a deep breath. “Jake Peralta was the best person I have ever known,” she said. “I was lucky to have him in so much of my life. He inspired me through my fears and anxieties, and he helped teach me how to relax and enjoy life for what it is.” She stopped to wipe her tears away again. “I wish more than anything he could come back,” she said. Her chest tightened and she was crying to the point that wiping them away did nothing, but she kept speaking.

“Jake was so full of love,” she said. “He loved so much and so hard and he deserved to be here longer than he was. I’ll carry him with me in everything I do at the Nine-Nine, and I know the rest of his friends will, too.”

***

It was four months before Jake heard back from Marshal Johnson. They were the longest months of his life, even longer than the time he’d spent in Florida. At least then he’d had Captain Holt around, and he could go outside, and he could get a letter from the squad every so often.

So when the doorbell rang and Doctor Acosta brought Johnson into the house, Jake felt like he’d ascended into someplace higher than Heaven. The briefing was quick and simple: the FBI had detained O’Bannon and subdued all of his men, and Captain Holt would be told the truth about Jake before he went back to Brooklyn. His life should be back to normal in just days, but the prospect of seeing his friends months after they were told he was dead was more nerve-wracking than any case he’d been on. What if they were angry? He knew he would be angry if his role had been reversed with any of them—not that he would blame them, but he would be angry nonetheless.

Jake’s plane came first thing in the morning, and he was back in New York by noon to meet Holt at the airport. His stomach churned as he left the gate and scanned the crowd for Holt, who he found with no problem. He grinned despite his nerves as he approached the captain.

“Sir,” Jake said, offering his hand.

“Peralta.” Holt nodded and shook Jake’s hand before pausing and drawing him into a hug. “It’s good to see you again, Jake,” he said. “I am glad you’re well.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Captain,” Jake said. “Really good.”

“I’ve not told the others about you yet,” Holt said once they’d caught a cab. “I only got word late last night, and I figured you would want to stop by the precinct to see them as soon as you got back, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Jake said, “I need to see them. But, uh…shouldn’t they have some warning? I mean,  _I_  think ghosts are badass, but they might not think so.”

“I will go in before you and tell them,” Holt said. “They will all be thrilled to see you, Peralta. You should know your funeral was the most emotional thing I have ever experienced.”

There it was again, that pang of guilt for things he couldn’t control. He forced a laugh and said, “Man, I was hoping it would have been a rager.”

“Some people were enraged, yes,” Holt said. “Particularly Boyle.”

“No, I meant ‘rager’ as in a wild party with drinks and fun,” Jake said.

“I’m not familiar with the slang,” Holt replied, “but Santiago did appear to be inebriated, and I know Gina was—”

“Okay, not helping,” Jake said. “Never mind. We’re almost there; I just need to take a few deep breaths…calm down…”

“Why are you so nervous?” Holt said. “You don’t have any reason to be.”

“I don’t know,” Jake said. “I’ve just never been in a situation like this before. I’m used to being prepared for anything, but I wasn’t trained for dealing with these emotions and Yahoo Answers doesn’t have many people who have faked their deaths giving advice.”

“Come on, Peralta,” Holt said as the cab pulled up in front of the precinct, “you’ll be fine. Now, stay out here and I will come get you after I have given everybody the news.”

Jake nodded and leaned against the wall to wait while Holt went inside.

***

“Everybody in the briefing room,” Captain Holt said as he strode out of the elevator. “I have big news.”

Amy perked up. She’d never heard the captain use the words  _big news_  before, but she couldn’t imagine it meant anything bad. Had the precinct won an award? Were crimes at a record low? She scanned her internal database for anything interesting that might be happening this time of year, but she couldn’t come up with anything big news-worthy.

Once everyone was seated, Holt took his usual place at the front of the room and immediately began speaking.

“Four months ago,” he said, “we held a funeral for Detective Jake Peralta.”

Amy felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. Thinking about Jake’s death still hurt, and the precinct found it was best for all of them not to bring it up. Why was Holt mentioning it now?

“Last night, I received a call from US Marshal Johnson, the marshal Detective Peralta had been working under. I was told he was alive.”

Amy’s breath caught, and she shook her head. “Sir, I think I must have misheard you…”

“You did not,” Holt said. Amy’s pulse raced as murmurs spread through the room. “Peralta was ordered to lie low in Maine after being compromised and subsequently shot. He survived, but Johnson faked his death for his safety while he recovered, and now that O’Bannon has been captured, he is free to return to New York.”

“Hey, guys.”

Amy whipped around in her seat at the sound of Jake’s voice and found him standing in the doorway with a sheepish grin on his face. Warmth washed over her and she felt rigid and weak all at the same time. Is this real? she thought. It is. It is real. It has to be real.

“Sorry, Captain, I couldn’t wait—”

Jake staggered under Amy’s weight as she all but threw herself out of her chair and into his arms. Her arms wrapped so tightly around his neck he almost couldn’t breathe, but he lifted his hands to hold her back and closed his eyes, breathing in her perfume and burying his face in her hair. When she finally drew back, one hand tangled in his hair and the other still wrapped around his neck, the look in her eyes sparkling with tears made his heart melt.

She pulled him back into a hug, crooning “I thought I’d never see you again” and “I missed you so much” and “I love you, Jake. Don’t you  _ever_ do that to me again” and yes, she sounded angry like he was afraid she would, but he didn’t care anymore. He just gathered her tighter into his arms and kissed the top of her head and felt her warmth and her heartbeat and her love.

And then more weight was added as Charles did his best to bear-hug the both of them, and he could feel Rosa slapping him on the back, and Terry ruffled his hair through joyous sniffles, and Gina managed to worm her way into the hug, too—something Jake would have to remember to tease her about later.

Later, there were drinks (a celebratory rager, as Holt had called it), and the ninety-ninth precinct became whole again as they recounted tales from the last four months and openly shared their love for one another.

“To Jake’s immortality!” Charles drunkenly toasted, and Jake laughed and shook his head as Charles attempted to clink glasses with everyone in the bar.

“No,” Jake said. “To my family.” He looked to Amy and wrapped his arm around her before glancing around at the rest of his squad. “You’re all incredible, and I missed you so much,” he said. “Nine-Nine!”

The chorus of  _Nine-Nine!_ s answered back as smoothly as they ever had, and at the end of the day with the sun setting on the horizon, they felt full and at peace with the world again.


End file.
